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FATHER TIMES 

RECEPTION. 



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ARRANGED BY F. AND M. MAC. 



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"It was once on a time and 'twas long, long ago," 

Father Time gave a party unique 

To which he invited the Centuries all, 

And the months and the days were to speak. 



PRICE FIFTY CENTS. [Copyriglited :!^ovember sflk-d, 1SS9.] 



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FATHER TIME S 

RECEPTION. 



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ARRANGED BY F. AND M. MAC. 

^-oZA^^^o-^ 

"It was once on a time and 'twas long-, long ago,' 

Father Time gave a party unique 

To which he invited the Centuries all, 

And the months and the da;^s were to speak. „ 



\. 




DEC 20 18?^^ 



G/j,'/- ly Ml;,7.M. „,v^^.^. / 



, ,&^ 

2. FATHER TIME S RECErTIOX. 

1st. — Musk: Ordicntia . 

2nd. — Recitation hcfon' the curtain rises for the reception. 

A LEGEND OF HAS VEST. 

So long ago that history pays 

No heed noi' record of how long, 
Back in the lovely dreamy days, 
' The <iays of story and of song. 

Before the world had crowded grown, 
While wrong on earth was hard to find, 

And half the earth had never known 
The forms and faces of mankind. 

When just as now the years would keep 
Their terms of snows and suns and shows, 

It chanced that summer drop asleep. 
One morning in a fiald of flowers. 

And while the warm weeks came and fled, 

In all their tender wealth of charm. 
She slept, with beauteous golden head 

Laid softly on her weary arm. 
She did not hear the waving trees. 

The warbling brook she did not hear, 
Nor yet the velvet coated bees 

That boomed about her rosy oar. ; 

In many a yellow breezy mass, 
The i:ich wheat ripened far away. 

And glittering on the fragrant grass, 
Hor silver sickle idly lay. 

But then at last,, one noontide hour, 
A gorgeous moth, while hovering by. 

Mistook her sweet mouth for a flower. 
And summer waked, with startled cry. 

. She rose, in anxious wonder, now, 

To gaze upon the heightened wheat, 



FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 3. 

And saw its plenteous ta.ssels bow 
Dead-ripe below the sultry heat. 

Half crazed, she wandei^ed East and West 

Amid the peaceful spacious clime. 
Until at length, with panting breast. 

She stood before old Father Time. 
With tears of shame she told him all 

While pointing to the wheat unraown. 
And said, "What power shall make it fall 

Ere autumn's bitter winds have blown?" 

Then Father Time, with laughter gay. 

Bowed all his frame, and crooked his knees. 
And tossed his white beard like the spray 

That crowns the crests of wintry seas. 
"Oh daughter, cheer your heart!" he cried; 

"The wheat shall fall ere falls the night, 
We two shall mow it, side by side. 

And reap it in the stars' jmle light!" 

So smmner cleared her brow of gloom, 
And forth with Father Time she went. 

And, haggard ago by youth in bloom, 
Above the tawny wheat they bent. ' 

Ere fall of night the harvest fell; 

But since that season, fair and blithe. 
As ancient- annals love to tell. 

Old Father Time has borne a scythe! 

— Edgar Fawcett. 

(The stage is arranged to represent a parlor, with a 
window in the back of the room. Curtain rises. Fath- 
er Time is seated on a raised dais or throne with his 
scythe in his hand, the scythe resting above and back 
of his head; on a small table to his right is an hour 
glass. Father Time is dressed in flowing robe, with 
long white beard and hair. The orchestra plays a slow 
march and the centuries enter in single file dressed in 



4- FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 

flowing x^obes, with crowns on their heads and staffs in 
their hands. As they pass in front of Father Time, 
each makes a low obeisance and mai-ch to the chairs ar- 
rang'ed for them on each side the throne. Father Time 
then addresses his guests in the following words:) 

I've heard it said, when to the past 

A longing look is backward cast, 

That, through the far off, misty air. 

Memory sees only pictures fair, 

Consoling hearts with Joys so tender 

They tears forget and smiles remember. 

So, if the sorrows of the past are all forgotten, and joyi 

alone remembered, need I fear 
To tell you that, to-night, I've brought you back ayeai 
Composed of lovely seasons, four; 
This is my first gift, then I've more. 

(At the close of this address a young lady enters 
dressed to represent Spring bearing in her hand a bou- 
quet or basket of Spring flowers, which she presents to 
Fatlier Time at the close of her recitation. By a wave 
of the hand Father Time indicates to her to lay it up- 
on a table standing near. ) 

SPRING. 

Do you not think, dear Father Time, 
Of all the year, the sweet Spring-time 
Is fairest; that the heart-strings beat 
With fuller strains of, music sweet? 
It is like a thought of Heaven, 
That I this work of love am given. 

I melt the snow in valleys deep, 
Its soft tears give the moss its green; 

I kiss the dear earth in her sleep, 
And seek to wake her from her dream. 

I caU south winds, with flutt'ring wing, 

To make the ripples on the stream. 
And o'er the meadows shadows fling, 

With glints of flying gold between. 



FATHER TIME S RECEPTION, 5. 

I haunt the spots where Violets hide. 
And stir the brown leaves on their bed, 

To let warm rays of sunshine g'lide, 
And lift the Snowdrop's drooi:fino- head. 

I whisper to the naked trees, 

And tell them winter's reig'n is o'er; 

Their answer is ten thousand leaves, 
The dress so oftan worn before. 

I paint bright skies of blue above, 
And who, like I, the heart can thrill, 

And bring- back youth, and truth, and love. 
With Lilac scent and Daffodil? 

FATHER TIME. 

I know, dear Spring, no other time. 

Has such a subtile chai*m as thine; 

When o'er the earth thou throw'st a screen 

Of tiny blades of upright greau. 

Young hearts glow and haste to meet. 

With dancing steps, thy coming feet; 

And pulses, stayed by sorrow's chill. 

Thou hast, indeed, a power to thrill. 

No other flowers can over bring 

The joy of thy first flowers, oh, spring. 

(Just at the close of Father Time's reply to Spring, 
another young lady enters, costumed as Summer, bear- 
ing an offei'ing of lovely roses which she also presents, 
at the close of her address to Father Time. ) 

SUMMER. 

Count not the time of Spring the dearest. 
Oh, Father Time, until thou hearest 
How I, with love, and joy, and singing. 
Prolong' the work of Spring's beginning. 

I breathe upon her opening leaves. 

And smooth them out with satin shine. 



6. FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 

And deepen their pale tints of green, 
And trace a wider, firm outline. 

I send soft airs to woo her buds, 

And make them into beauteous flowers 

With honeyed hearts, where bird and bee 
Do revel in the summer hours. 

I make the silken tassels 'neath 

The covering-, which the Corn enfold; 
I watch the fields of waving green, 

And some I turn to fields of gold. 
My royal crown, my regal Rose, 

Its heavenly perfume fills the air, 
"With an unsparing hand i give. 

And fling my treasures everywhere. 

I have a balm for tired hearts; 

Of all I have, I give the best; 
I live with sunshine, shade and shower. 

In Summer's heart of love to rest. 

FATHER TIME. 

Dear Summer, it is also true. 
That thou hast many beauties, too; 
That thou, for opening bud and leaf. 
And added charm of beauty keep; 
Thou hast the power to soothe the pain 
Of many an o'er- wrought, tired brain. 
Who from the city's languor flies. 
To summer fields, 'neath summer skies; 
The magic of thy wand of gold 
Is like a miracle of old. 

(Then enters a young lady in Autumn dress bearing 
the fruits of her season.) 

AUTUMN. 

I pray thee to keep, dear Father Time, 
Some word of love for work of mine; 



FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 

My flowers, I know, can never bring 
The ecstacy of flowers of Spring. 
But their pale beauty long is dead, 
The Summer Roses all have fled; 
Mine will remind you of the past. 
Oh, take of me, I give the last. 

I haste, with joyful steps, to bring 
My treasures from the yielding earth; 

I pour my gifts with lavish hand, 

With sound of grateful harvest mirth. 

I bring the Corn, the fruit, the vine 
With purple Grapes, the ci'imson pod 

Of Bittersweet, the Rowan bright. 

And "wayside flowers'' of Golden Rod. 

rto the forests haste, ere yet, 

By Winter's hand, of beauty shoi'n, 

Them, like to royal kings of old, 
In gorgeous raiment I-adorn. 

And then, I lull the resting earth 

With magic days of hazy gold, 
And stir the heart's imaginings 

With song of robin, as of old. 

FATHER TIME. 

Not words, but love, itself, I give thee, 

For all the gifts thy bounty brings me. 

I thank thee for thy sad sweet task, 

To hide, as with a brilliant musk. 

The fading flower, the leaf now sere. 

The emblems of the dying year, 

Before thou yield'st to Winter's reign; 

To coax the Summer back again, 

And stir with thought, "beyond all telling," 

The heart, with song of robin swelling. 



8. FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 

(Then enters Winter robed in fur and sparkling with 
frost. Her ottering is evergreen wreaths and crystal- 
ized grasses.) 

WINTER. 

Tell me that it's not in vain, 

To seek a thought of thine to gain; 

Oh, believe my heart's not cold, 

Though icy garments me enfold; 

In this work of love I share 

My burden of the year I bear. 

The wearied earth now turns to mo, 
When Autumn's brilliancy has fled; 

I call the swift winds to my aid, 

With withered leaves to strew her bed. 

The north winds bring me soft, white flakes, 
To make a covering warm and deep; 

No shelter e'er so pure as this. 

Beneath which earth and flowers sleep. 

The giant limbs of forest kings 

In royal ermine robes I screen; 
Hang diamond pendants on the Pines, 

My children, in their evergreen. 

I check Ontario's waves of blue, , 

And still awhile their dancing grace 

With shining barriers, that are like 
A mystic veil drawn o'er her face. 

Here, now, with swift mysterious glide. 

The skaters come with daring skill. 
With glowing cheeks and flying feet, 

c 

Defy my breath their hearts to chill. 

I hold a day of heavenly name. 

What honor could ^ ask beside? 
Glad tidings to the world I bring, 

In every holy Christmas-tide. 



FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. 9. 

FATHER TIME. 

Thy heart's not cold; yes, I believe thee, 

Though with icy breath thou freeze me. 

The work of love thy robes conceal, 

The Spring's awakening will reveal. 

No wealth of Autumn could we own. 

No Summer path v/ith Roses strewn, 

Nor have the Spring's immortal green, 

If Winter did not lie between. 

The light of moon, the gold of star. 

The thought of "wise men from afar," 

The everlasting hills outline 

The sighing voices of the Pine, 

Th^ silent fields of stainless birth. 

Unbroken yet by touch of earth, 
These, scenes of V7inter night's revealing. 
Touch the heart with wondrous feeling. 

FATHER TIME, IO nil IllC Se((S07IS. 

I love you all, and with impartial eyes. 

In all both worth and beauty recognize; 

All, with willing hearts, the Master's work have done; 

From all, not one, the perfect year has come. 

FATHER TIME, to ike Audiencc. 

The Seasons thus to mortals teach — 

The task that is assigned to each 

Must faithfully be done, for in that lies 

The sweatest joy beneath the skies. 

— A. L. Thomson. 

(Just now is heard in the distance the little ca.rol 
singers, and as they draw nearer Winter steps to the 
window and opens it. The carol singers sta.nd at the 
window and sing one or two of their Christmas carols. 
As they pass on Father Time says:) 

Some of my little children dear, 

To greet my guests, will now ai:)p3ar. 



TO. FATHER TIMES RECEPTION. 

(A little tot now enters di'essed to represent January. 

She says:) 

I'm little January; perhaps you do not know 

How far I've come to see you across the fields of snow. 

Perhaps you wern't expecting I'd be so very small, 
Perhaps you're almost wishing I had not come at all. 

I've lots of little sisters, a little brother tco, 

And some of them are coming to make a call on you. 

But I got ready quickly, and came right straight off here 
To be the first to greet this hai^py bright Now Year. 

—K. J). C. 

FATHER TIME. 

We know it is good that Wintor should come, 
Roving awhile from his Lapland home; 
'Tis fitting that we should hear the sound 
Of his reindeer sledge on the slijDpery ground. 

For his wide and glittering cloak cf snow 
Protects the seeds of life below; 
Beneath his mantle are nurtured and born 
The roots of the flowei's, the germs of the corn. 

The whistling tone of his pure strong breath 
Rides scatt'ring the vapors of pestilent dea,th; 
I love him, I say, and avow it again, 
For God's wisdom and might show well in his train. 

— Eliza Cook. 

(Then a little girl representing April; dressed in 
light green, with rainbow sash enters and recites:) 

"I can not help laughing," ha., ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! 
"Now my boisterous brother is out of the way. 
When he bade us good-bye, in the midst of a breeze, 
I thought all the branches would fly from the trees. 



FATHER TIME S RECEPTION. I I. 

"But wasn't he horrid, to scream, as he went, 

'Here comes cry-baby Api-il?'' ('Tis I whom he meant.) 

And if I do cry, I a,m. sure that eacli tear 

To the heart of a floweret brings tidings of cheer. 

"And then, when I laugh — you have seen me yourself — 

There ne'er was a brighter and happier elf. 

As the rainbow can tell you; he comes out to see. 

And firat spreads his banner in honor of me. ~ ~" 

"The brave early flowers all peep from their beds 
When I open my arms, and uncover their heads 
And waft me sweet perfume, as onward I pass 
To coax with my footsteps the tender young grass. 

"And oh, the bold robins! how gaily they sing. 
And tell me their love thoughts in gay caroling! 
Only thirty short days can I stay with you, hear? 
Please, then, love little April — ploaso love mo, friends 
dear." — Goklen Days. 

APRIL'S TEARS. 

April's tears are happy tears. 
Joy when the arbutus sweet 
Creeps about her dancing feet. 

When the violet appears. 

When the birds begin to sing. 
When the grass begins to grow, 
Makes her lovely eyes o'erflow. 

She's a tender-hear ted thing. 

Bonny daughter of th? spring! — Harper's. 

(Then in comes Fourth of July, a boy dressed in ap- 
propriate costuma with a flag in his hand and bristling 
with fire-crackera. As he rushes in he says:) 

"What is the matter with Fourth of July V Why can't 

he come to the reception and tell of the Libez^ty Bell?") 

THE LIBERTY BELL. 

Squarely prim and stoutly built. 
Free from glitter and from gilt, 



12. FATHER TIMES RECEPTION. 

Plain from lintel up to roof tree and to belfry, 

bare and brown, 
Stands the hall that hot July, 
While the folk throng anxious by, 
Where the Continental Congress meets with- 
in the Quaker town. 

Hark! a stir, a sudden shout, 

And a boy comes rushing out, 

Signaling to where his grandsire in the bel- 
fry, watching, stands; 

Ring! he cries; the deed is done! 

Ring! they've signed and freecom's won! 

And the ringer grasjas the bell-rope with his 
strong and sturdy hands. 

While the Bell, with joyous note 
Clanging from its Ijrazen throat. 
Rings the tidings, all exultant, peals the news 

to shore and sea; 
"Man is man — a slave no longer; 
Truth and right than might are stronger. 
Praise to God! We're free; we're free!" 

FATHER TIME. 

Prize tlie glorious relic then. 
With its hundred years and more. 
By the past a priceless heirloom to the fu- 
ture handed down, 
Still it's stirring story tell. 
Till the children know it well, 
From the joyous Southern city to the North- 
ern Quaker town. 

—E. S. BrooJcs. 

(Now August appears, a lazy, sleepy little girl dressed 
in white, with poppies in her hair and golden rod in 
her hand; she yawns and nods as she I'ecites her verses 
and sinlcs down at last on a rug and sleeps. ) 



FATHER time's RECEPTION. j ^ 

AUGUST. 
A lazy, sleepy little girl 

Comes nodding", nid-nid-nod! 
She wears a poppy in her hair. 

And with a g-olden rod 
She slowly points this way and that,- 

The sky is dim with haze, 
The sun g-rows red, the blossoms droop. 

And sultry, foggy days 
Are sure to follow where she leads. 

For August is her name; 
And though she comes year after year, ' • 

She's always just the same,— 
A lazy, sleepy little girl 

Armed with a golden-rod. 
Crooning a drowsy lullaby. 
And nodding, nid-i>id-nodI 

— Youth's Comjmnion. 

FATHER TIME. 

"Sleep on; and dream ©f Heaven awhile; 
Though shut so close thy laughing eyes. 
Thy rosy lips still wear a smile. 
And move, and breathe delicious sighs " 

NOVEMBER. 

They say that November is cold and bleak. 

With only a bluster and roar. 
Toppling down chimneys and shaking the house 

And rattling the blinds and the door. 
That he's good for nothing under the sun; 

But freezes and pinches and kills 
Whatever he touches, seeking his prey 
In the valleys and on the hills. 



14- FATHER TIMES RECEPTION. 

I'm noisy, I know, and perhaps I am 

A blustering boy, as they say, 
But in spite of all my terrible ways, 

Don't I bring you Thanksgiving DayV 

Don't I make the coasting on all the hills'? 

Don't I bring you every year 
Rosy-cheeked apples, and j^op-corn and nuts? 

Don't I whisper of Christmas cheer? 

I am trying my best to do what I can. 

And to give far more than I take 
Of everything good; and I want you all 

To love me for Thanksgiving's sake! 

— Youth'' s Comjmnion. 

FATHER TIME. 

"Spring tide is the year's gay youth. 

Summer is it's prime; 

In faith we watch the growth of spiking. 

In hope, the summer time; 

But mellow autumn, like God's love, 

Showers gifts on every clime." 

(Then the "Old Year" comes in wnlking with slow, 
feeble step, followed closely by the "New Year," who 
speaks first and says:) 

"The night is starry and cold, my friend. 

And the New Year, blithe and bold, my friend, 

Comes to take up his own," 

"A Happy New Year!" Here is a year to be had! 

A whole magnificent year held out to each lass and 

lad; 
Days and weeks and months! Joys and labors and 

pains! 

Take it, spenl it, buy with it, lend it, and presently 

count yo'jr grins. 

—H. H. 



FATHER TIMES RECEPTION. I 5. 

THE OLD YEAR TO THE NEW. 

With hands full of gifts and cheeks like a i-ose, 
There you wait 
At my gate 
While my winter wind blows; 

And you laugh as you stand there, a laugh full of scorn, 
At the sight 
Of the flight 
Of the graybeard forlorn. 

And the stories he tells of the months that have sped; — 
"What I— I," 
You cry, 
"When my twelve months have fled, 

To bend and to totter, to sigh and to shake. 
And like you 
There to rue 
The vows that I break V 

"Not I, oh, not I,'" you scornfully say; 
"I shall stand 
Where you sta.nd. 
As blitiie as to-day, 

When one after one, my twelve months have sped, 
Not a fear, 
Not a tear. 
Shall I murmur or shed.'- 

So, my youngster, you laugh, as you stand there untried, 
As you wait 
At my gate 
In your ignorant pride. 

So I boasted and laughed when I stood in your place, 
But to-day. 
Ah, to-day. 
At the end of my race, 



I 6. FATHER time's RECEPTION. 

I count up the gifts that I sold for a song, 
In that time 
Of my prime. 
When lusty and strong. 

My plans were so easy, my promises rife. 
And pleasure. 
The measure. 
And limit of life. 

But my easy-laid plans, not so easily sped. 
And alas, 
And alas, 
Ere the twelve months had fled, 

I found what my line boasted wisdom was worth. 
And that haste 
Had made waste 
On my kingdom of earth. 

But what US3 for me here to counsel and pray, 
When you heed 
Not indeed 
A word that I say. 

When impatient you wait for my gate to unclose. 
With that air. 
Debonair, 
And that cheek like a rose! 

Well, well, enter in — The gates are flung wide. 
There or here, 
God is near, 
Whatsoever betide. 

— Nora Perr-y. 

(The Old Year then passes off the stage, and Father 
Time says:) 

The year 

Has gone, and with it many a glorious throng 

Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each bi'ow, 



FATHER time's RECEPTION. I 7. 

Its shadow in each, heart. In its swift coui^se 
It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful, 
And they are not It laid it's pallid hand 
Upon the strong man, and the haughty form 
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 
It trod tlie hall of revelry, where thronged 
The bright and joyous, and the tearful wail 
0f stricken ones is heard when erst the song 
And reckless shout resounded. 

— George D. Prentice. 
A Mighty Hand, from an exhaustless arm. 
Pours forth the never ending Flood of Years 
Among the nations. How the rushing waves 
Bear all before them. On their foremost edge, 
And there alone, is life! the Present there 
Tosses and foams and fills the air with roar 
Of mingled noises. 

Looking back, 
Where that tumultuous flood has passed, I see 
The silent Ocean of the Past, a waste 
Of waters. 

In the room 
Of this grief-shadowed Present there shall be 
A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw 
The heart, and never shall a tender' tie 
Be broken— in whose reign the eternal change 
That waits on growth and action shall proceed 
With evei^lasting Concord hand in hand. 

— Bryant. 
'Tis midnight, holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding like a gentle spix-it o'er 
The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds. 
The bell's deep tones are swelling— 'tis the knell 
Of the departed year. 

— Prentke. 



15. FATHER TIMES RECEPTION. 

SONG. — RING OUT THE OLD, RING IN THE NEW. 

Ring out the Old, Ring- in the New, 

Ring- happy bells, across the snow; 
Ring out the false ring in the true; 

The year is going, let him go. 
Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 

For those that here we see no more; 
Ring in redress of all mankind. 

Ring out the fend of rich and poor. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 

The civic slander and the spite; 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring in the love of truth and righti 
Ring in the valient man and free, 

The larger heart the kindlier hand; 
Ring in the Christ that is to be, 

Ring out the darkness of the land. 

— Ihinyson. 

Note. — The closing song is to be sung by all on the 
stage except Father Time and the Centuries. This en- 
tertainment can be made more elaborate by having each 
Century appear in the costume appropriate to the par- 
ticular Century he represents. If desired the enter- 
tainment can close with a tableaux representing the 
four seasons. More music can be added if needed, and 
singers behind the curtain can assist those on the stage 
if necessary. 



THE WE3TEKX SPIRIT PRINT, 
PAOLA, KANSAS. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

lilliiillliiilllillilL^ 

015 988 510 ^ 




